


sharing breath

by kiyala



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Grinding, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 16:38:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither Combeferre nor Courfeyrac can remember how or when they started jerking off together. It's just a thing they do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sharing breath

**Author's Note:**

> I blame/thank [jaye](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jayeinacross).

If someone were to ask Combeferre how this started, he wouldn't be able to answer them. He honestly can't remember, but that doesn't really matter. Not to him, and not to Courfeyrac either. They hold each other's gaze, the loud click of the door being locked still hanging in the air. They're alone now, they won't be disturbed, and this has happened often enough that they both know what that means.

They circle each other, neither of them moving any closer than they already are. Almost as if they're sizing each other up for a fight. Combeferre's lips are wet because he's been biting on them, sucking them, and Courfeyrac's cheeks are pink because he's been watching.

It's Courfeyrac who makes the first move today, the silence broken by the sound of him undoing his pants. The material is a soft whisper as he pushes it down, discarding them on the floor. His cock is already hard with anticipation, straining against his underwear. He strokes it once, and Combeferre feels like the air is being sucked out of his lungs. His own cock twitches and he undoes his pants.

They don't look at each other again until they're both naked. Courfeyrac's eyes always catch on Combeferre's arms, thick and muscled. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as his gaze travels down Combeferre's chest, down his stomach and to his cock. Then, those dark eyes snap back up to Combeferre's own and it's not embarrassment in them; Courfeyrac is not shy about this. He does not second-guess what he is doing.

Instead, his eyes ask, _is this what you want?_

Combeferre never answers, because he doesn't know how. He wants to say _yes_ , that this is more than he ever thought he would have. He wants to say _no_ , this is nowhere near enough. Instead, he opts to wrap his hand around his own cock and begin stroking.

Over time, he's grown incredibly familiar with Courfeyrac's expressions, with his breathing. He knows when Courfeyrac has had a particularly trying day, from the way he doesn't waste his time, just strokes himself the way he likes it the best, coming with a quiet cry. He knows when Courfeyrac is in a good mood, from the way he teases himself, his touch light and fleeting until he can no longer stand to be patient with himself.

This is how they communicate, instead of needing words. Catching each other's eye, faces flushed, their heavy breaths mingling in the quiet room. It makes Combeferre wonder if that's how they'd sound together, _properly_ together, and the thought has him coming all of a sudden, harder than he'd expected.

He sits there, eyelids drooping halfway shut, watching as Courfeyrac arches in his seat, legs spread, fist loose as he fucks into it. He's biting his lips, turning them a pretty pinkish red, and Combeferre suddenly finds that he can't think of anything but how much he'd like to kiss them.

That's different to what he's used to. They don't close the distance between them, they don't touch, and they definitely don't kiss. Those are the unspoken rules, and Combeferre reminds himself to stick to them. He'll take what Courfeyrac is willing to give, and he won't push for anything more.

Except then, Courfeyrac catches him watching. His hand slows, curious, and as much as Combeferre knows he should look away, knows that they don't usually keep watching each other like this, he doesn't. He leans against the wall, sated and tired, and takes Courfeyrac in.

Courfeyrac gives him a small smile, strangely shy. Combeferre spreads his legs, moving his hand from his lap.

If all Courfeyrac needed was invitation, Combeferre would have given it a long time ago.

Courfeyrac crosses the room now, fingers squeezing the base of his cock. He stands over Combeferre for a moment, and then straddles him. Combeferre hadn't even realised that he was hard until their cocks slide against each other, and the contact has them both moaning.

Finding Combeferre's hand with his own, Courfeyrac wraps both of them around their cocks, stroking them together. Combeferre matches the pace, tilting his face up to look at Courfeyrac. Their noses are almost touching, breath soft on each other's lips.

Noses brushing against each other, they pause with uncertainty. It feels ridiculous to be like this, afraid of kissing when their hips are gently rocking against each other. Combeferre takes a deep breath, then closes the gap. Their lips are soft against each other to begin with, before they kiss each other harder. Courfeyrac's hands go to Combeferre's hair, fingers tangling in it as their tongues slide against each other. They grind against each other harder, needing the friction. This time, as Courfeyrac's breath stutters as he's about to come, Combeferre can feel it against his own lips. Courfeyrac moans into his mouth, and Combeferre follows close behind, coming for the second time.

Combeferre leans against the wall, Courfeyrac melting against him. With their arms around each other, Combeferre can no longer remember why it felt so important that they stayed apart. Not when this feels much better, Courfeyrac kissing a warm trail of kisses from Combeferre's neck to his lips.

Resting a hand on the back of Courfeyrac's neck, Combeferre kisses him again. They should have been doing this from the very beginning; the very least they can do now is make up for lost time.


End file.
